I know you don't want to visit this blog. I don't either. It is a sad spot. And none of us should seek sadness if we have a choice. And so I am writing now in order to put a step in front of Bello's death. Here's a new photo, to soften your landing.

This is a strange time. I am living at my Dad and Bonnie's house. But Bonnie is not really here. She suffered a mysterious injury to her shoulder on the first of this month. She woke up with incredible pain, apparently a muscle spasm. And it won't stop. She is now bed-ridden and has been for the last nine days. We don't see her. She lives in bed and doesn't come downstairs except to be shuttle to yet another expert. We call up to her and engage in broken, hard to understand conversations when she is awake, which is not often. So many things can go wrong with the body. A zillion things! Or a gazillion as my Dad prefers to say. He and I hike in the morning and count our blessings. What else, besides the morning hike, am I doing with my days? They go by. I am not bored nor lonely nor in need of a project. I roll along. At night I write to Bello and cry. I look at pictures of possible future dogs and cry. I fall asleep on my back with my hands crossed over my chest and wake in the same position. Another morning, another step forward.

This is what an opening in one's life feels like.

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